Susan Heyboer O'Keefe 
The official, homemade, always out-of-date Web site...
          
     

Heyboers with Hats 
My husband says you can always tell a Heyboer by the hat. I’m not really sure what he means by this, but perhaps the question is better left unasked—and unaswered. The fact that all the photos below involve hats is purely coincidental.

Important Note: I'm really not as old as these early black-and-white, near-daguerreotypes suggest. We were just using very old equipment because that's all we could afford. Really. We were so poor that some years we had only one hat to share among us. In fact, we were so poor that once we were even forced to eat our . . . Well, I won't say it. The joke is beneath me.

Important Note #2: If you had even a second's doubt that I created this site myself, this page will change your mind. Getting photos to behave is hard! I spent so much time not cleaning to bring it just to this wretched state that I finally had to give up. I was already way too late for spending time not doing something else.














                                                      


My confirmation—something like a Catholic bar or bat mitzvah, in which I become an adult member of the Faith.

A very special occasion like this calls for a very special hat. This was blue chiffon with big, blue chiffon flowers (to match my blue chiffon dress). It was nicely bowl-shaped to emphasize my noble, brainy, and huge, forehead.

Hey! Like your mother never picked out your clothes
.





My son—so ashamed of the family predilection that he asked to remain anonymous.

And yet . . . and yet . . . he is still compelled to wear . . . a hat.  
                                                                                             
Seriously, it was Halloween. He was the Invisible Man. It was the coolest spontaneous costume in the world, except that it fell apart immediately.









Here's my husband. He's not wearing a hat, mind you. He's wearing something practical made of cloth to keep that fierce sun out of his eyes when we visited the Southwest.

Squint, squint, squint. See how fierce the sun is?

I think he's probably afraid that hats are contagious.








       
This is me on the same vacation. No, this is not a case of my head being too big for my hat. It's a very clear case of the hat being too small for my noble, brainy, and still huge head.

We were on a working ranch for the eveniing and the whole group of us bought these to surprise our tour guide, who then made us wear them in public.

As you can see from my expression, I feel quite foolish and embarrassed, and yet at the same time truly delighted. Because everyone knows that even a hat that's too small is still a hat.




No one escapes.

NO ONE!
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